It’s About Love, Hopes & Dreams

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“Dad! I got invited to a movie audition. Should I go? Can I go?”

My daughter’s dream is acting in movies. She is staring at her computer which is open to the acting profile she keeps on Backstage.com, a movie industry site.

This is the first audition invite from Hollywood she’s ever received.

“Holy heck Alyssa, that’s wonderful, read it to me!”

It’s from a director at the American Film Institute for a short movie. AFI is a really big deal. We google to find that out and we’re both kinda stunned when we do.

“What should I write back? Could I go to Los Angeles for an audition?” she asks.

My daughter has dreamed of acting in movies since she could talk.

We work out a reply and press send.

The next day, she gets another message from the director inviting her to audition on Wednesday at 7:30. Just five days away.

I believe in my daughter’s dream of acting. I always have. I believe in my daughter. And I believe in those whispers that tells us what we’d really love to do in our lives.

Alyssa has long amazed me with how she silently and effectively goes about care taking of her dream, almost never asking for help.

The director sends her a bit of the script, the movie is named Eyes of Dawn, and is about a teenage girl who is bullied at school and lives at home with an alcoholic dead-beat dad. Alyssa does school plays and she never reads her lines out loud for her parents. We always see it first at the live performance. But this time, I say, “Want to run lines with me? Since I’m a dad.” And she says “Sure”. I’m surprised and happy to be sitting in front of the fireplace reading script lines back and forth with my daughter for the first time ever.

In the script I get to yell, “Go to your room!” We say not a word about it, but we both know how I sound when I say the line in real life, but now she get’s a new line to respond with, “It’s a little too late for that.” We run the lines about ten times. She’s doing great.

Alyssa needed this break. This audition. Just last month, she lost the lead role she really wanted in a high school play and instead got what she felt was a bit part. I picked her up from school the day she got the news and she could barely speak the whole drive home. I think she wanted to cry. It was my first time as a father watching my kid suffer the disappointment of your dream not going as you so badly wanted, as you so badly felt you needed.

I had words of advice that were born out of my own disappointments in not being picked, of not getting the gig, of feeling overlooked and not good enough, but for the first time as I shared them with my daughter, I felt like a lousy inspirational speaker. I could see my daughter remain feeling defeated. I took her for treat. That an a hug seemed to work better than words of wisdom. And family. Just having family that loves you no matter what seemed to be far better than any words.

Three days to go before the audition. Alyssa tells me something when she gets in the car after school.

“My drama teacher was so excited about my audition she dedicated the entire class to helping me get ready. And tomorrow she’s going to do the same!”

I hear this and feel enormous gratitude, to the teacher of course, god bless the teacher for such a graceful and generous kindness, but I also feel grateful to the entire Universe. I want a friendly Universe for my daughter. I want the entire Universe to conspire for her to have a positive experience with her dreams.

Two days before the audition.

We call my close and long-time friend Ken Goldstein, an Emmy-award winning director and 20 year Hollywood veteran.

He gets on the phone with Alyssa who has never done any movie audition before. Ken says, “The most important thing is to go in there and enjoy it. Have fun! You’re auditioning at AFI and you’re doing what you love. So don’t concern yourself with getting the part. Just enjoy yourself all the way.”

As he speaks to Alyssa over speaker phone, I see my life choices and my friends now benefiting my daughter’s life, and I am amazed. Never saw that coming. My friend of decades is now mentoring my daughter.

The day of audition.

It’s my job to print out her first headshot. Her friend Lilly took it. When it comes out of the Kinko’s photo machine, I’m amazed. My daughter looks every bit a beautiful young woman but the photo is not what I expected. She is smiling in it. But not a full smile. And her eyes, they say, “I am friendly, but I am serious.” She only needs one head shot. I print a second one for my wall.

3:30 p.m.. It is time to pick Alyssa up and drive to Hollywood. Her audition is at 7:30. Hollywood is a 2 hour drive. We should have plenty of time to get there, but it is POURING RAIN. This isn’t a hard San Diego rain. This is a freak storm sent by mother nature to say, You bet your ass climate change is real, and today I’m going to send a warning to all my little friends in San Diego. I mean it’s coming down Biblically.

I don’t say anything. But I know this rain will massively slow down the drive to Los Angeles. I know this could make us late.

And then, both of our phones sound an emergency alert. And display a warning that certainly has never happened before in San Diego: TORNADO WARNING! What?! It seems almost impossible. We live in a beach town.

God. Please. Not tonight.

While we’re driving in a torrential downpour I make another call. Ransford, please pick up I think to myself. Ransford is the only working actor I know. Met him last year when he became a speech coaching client. Super nice guy with enough energy to power a small city. I would so love Alyssa to get a bit of advice from him. He answers!

Ransford talks to my daughter. Among a stream of great advice, the one that hits my daughter the most is, “Alyssa, just go in there and tell the story. You’re not there to audition. Or for them to like you. You’re just there to tell the story. They already saw something they like in you, that’s why they asked you to audition. Now they’re just hoping you can help them tell the story.” I see this advice both relax and excite my daughter. She feels ready. And she keeps saying she feels ready.

I have a surprise for the drive planned.

“Hey, I thought we could listen to the actor Rob Lowe’s audiobook. He’s got a chapter where he tells the story of when he did his audition at your age for The Outsiders.”

The weirdest thing I did in December is buy and listen to Rob Lowe’s audiobook. I thought I didn’t like Rob Lowe. But then one little excerpt I heard almost accidentally and I buy the thing and listen to it all. Kept saying to friends, “I’m doing the weirdest thing. I’m listening to Rob Lowe’s audiobook. I even paid money for it. I don’t even know if I like Rob Lowe.” Well I did end up liking his audiobook very much. But now as it’s playing for my daughter, and he’s saying things like, “I don’t think actors are great liars. I think great actors are actually great truth tellers. The tellers of their truth, what’s true for them in the words on the script.” I love Rob Lowe, and I want to give him a huge hug.

The car navigation system keeps pushing our arrival time back. It now tells us we’re going to make it to the audition at 7:20. If Rob wasn’t telling us a story, we’d be sweating it. We’re sweating it anyway. We’re just staying positive about it.

But we’re not going to make it on time.

Unless the rain stops.

There’s no sign of it stopping.

Mother Nature seems like she’s just getting started.

And then, the rain stops. Just goes away. Like a miracle.

We make it to AFI at 7:03. Uncle Rob shared Hollywood stories and advice with us for most of the ride.

We park at the American F-ing Film Institute. And I know this is where my daughter gets out of the car, and I be the cool dad who knows to wait in the car. I know she doesn’t want her Dad to be seen anywhere near her first Hollywood audition. I know. But I SO VERY MUCH wish I could go in. I so very much wish she wasn’t 16 yet. I so very wish she was 12 or 13 or 14 even and she still wanted me to go with her because I want to be there supporting her. But I know. I know I have to let her go. She’s 16.

“Okay honey, go in there and have fun. I know you’ll be wonderful and I’ll be here waiting!” I say.

“Dad, I’m sure you can come in with me,” she says asking.

I wrote this whole story to tell you that line.

I just broke out of story to tell you how much her saying that meant to me.

She wanted me to come in with her.

She still needs me.

I am still her Dad.

This is for me, a beautiful moment.

I’m new to being a father. Because almost every day being a parent is a new experience. I’ve never had a 16 year old daughter before. I myself never had a dad. My daughter has never been on this step into her own life, into her dreams, into the actual world. And I’m making it up as I go. Every step of the way. All the time. Constantly. Every new situation, I’m just guessing at how to be a good Dad. Aren’t we all.

And I’m sure it meant almost nothing that she wanted me to come with her, but to me, it meant the world because she’s almost grown. And I’ve got so little time left with her. And I hope I haven’t messed up too much. I hope I’ve done enough. I hope I’ve been okay as a father. And maybe this is a small sign that I’ve done enough right.

“Oh! Ok, great! Let’s go in,” I say. She has no idea.

We go in to AFI. This is hallowed ground. The walls are covered with black and white photographs of AFI award winners and graduates. It is the Who’s Who in Hollywood directing, producing, editing, cinematography and screenwriting. Giant movie posters adorn the walls also, each declaring with placards all the AFI graduates who were involved in making the movie.

My daughter’s first audition, at AFI. This is beyond legit. Thank you God!

In the hallways there are already actors gathered and waiting, my daughter’s competition. Like my daughter, they are all dressed the part. Leather jackets. Doo rags. Torn jeans. Flannel shirts. I’m wondering if my daughter’s freaking out? She looks pretty cool and confident. As a matter a fact, she’s got this HUGE smile on her face she’s so excited. Like best day of her life excited. “How is she not freaking out?” I wonder. We sit in little chairs against the hallway walls near the other actors. I lean into Alyssa and whisper, “Remember, don’t smile so much because you’re playing a girl who’s sad and angry.”

She notices that she is in fact smiling like a school girl with a huge crush and nods. Then the smile disappears. Good acting.

The director, a young woman who all at once seems friendly, professional and impressive calls in the first actor.

There teenage girl goes in and the unexpected happens. Alyssa and I hear her audition through the walls!

Oh that’s not good, I think to myself. Even Rob Lowe says the last thing an actor wants is to have to see other people’s auditions. Francis Ford Coppola casted like that and Rob said it was terrifying. But Alyssa keeps giving me looks to assure me that she’s okay. She’s feeling good.

I’m so proud of her.

And then, 30ish minutes later, the director calls my daughter into the room.

And the door closes.

Now, she’s on her own.

And Dad can only wait. And hope.

Please God, it’s her first audition. Let it be a positive experience. Please God, let her walk out of that room happy. Let her walk out of there feeling that she did good.

There is one more girl in the hall waiting to audition. I decide to say hello.

“Hi, do you do a lot of these?” I say.

I worried I might be interrupting her concentration, but she is clearly relieved to get to talk.

“No, it’s only my third one! I’m so so nervous! You’re daughter sounds great in there and she didn’t seem nervous at all. She must do a lot of these,” she says.

“It’s her first audition,” I inform.

We continue to make small talk and I decide to share Ransford’s great advice with the girl. I say, “You’re in college for acting so I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but the best advice my daughter received was just go in there and tell the story.”

The minute I say it I wonder if in my kindness I’ve just accidentally betrayed my daughter. Maybe this wasn’t the time or place to try and help anyone but my daughter. Damnit, it’s hard to turn habits of sharing off. But maybe I should have.

The young woman, who again was just so nervous, says, “I’ve never heard that advice. That’s great advice! Why don’t they teach me that at college?”

We continue the small talk and then the girl, a perfect stranger 3 minutes before says, “I shouldn’t think this, but the crazy thing is, I honestly hope your daughter get’s the part. I shouldn’t but I do. Because how cool would it be if she got the lead role on her first audition. That would be so great.” She says it with total sincerity.

“That’s so incredibly kind of you,” I reply. Human beings can be awful, but they can also be so wonderful.

Then my attention goes back to the door.

Soon, Alyssa emerges.

Actually, she seems to burst.

And she is smiling.

Huge.

Thank you God.

She feels she nailed it.

As we head for the door, she is almost skipping. Her hair is somewhat bouncing. My heart is definitely dancing.

And she drops the script straight into the first trash can. Her acting teacher told her never keep an audition script. Throw it away so you have no temptation to wonder if you could have done any lines better.

Alyssa is a good student. She’s teachable.

I’m so happy.

We exit and I say, “Can we take a photo in front of the building?” She is rarely in the mood for a picture with Dad anymore.

“Yes!” she says joyfully.

One the ride homeI find myself giving her a talk about what I’ve learned about following your dreams. I’ve made a living giving this talk for 22 years. But this talk is different. Same advice. Same lessons. But for the first time, I’m not a speaker or a coach. I’m something I’ve never been before.

I’m a dad sharing what he hopes for his daughter to know about following her dreams.

She listens without saying a word.

She falls asleep.

I drive home the happiest father alive.